


On the Count of Sync

by AmateurScribes



Series: Bad Things Happen (to Grif) Bingo [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood and Injury, Ethical Dilemmas, Graphic Description, Illnesses, M/M, Mind Meld, Vomiting, Wound That Would Not Heal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Just when Huggins had started to enjoy the company of Grif he falls ill.The ugly gash on the side of his face bleeding an inky black is very much to blame for her desperation.





	On the Count of Sync

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think it's pretty obvious that a lot of these prompts aren't really following the usual convention of stories that I write. So far this is the tamest bingo prompt I've done, but who knows what I'll write for some of the prompts I've already received, certainly not me. I know this one is weird but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

Huggins had noticed that Grif had started to slow down over time on their way to England to find the other two shisno's.

And at first she thought it was because his feeble fleshy body needed to take a rest, so she suggested they stop for the rest of the night.

But Grif had only muttered out a, "Sure, sure- _fucking_ hell." Before staggering towards one of the trees in the lush forest around them, tearing his helmet off his head, and collapsing against it.

She would have urged him to form _some_ kind of shelter but he leaned his head back against the tree and groaned from what she should have guessed was the pain.

And then he slept. For a very long time.

Huggins may not know much about humans but she knew enough to know that sleeping all throughout the night and straight into the next evening really wasn't a good sign.

But she had no way to check if something was wrong with him, she didn't have any arms or hands to push against his forehead to see if he was somehow spiking a fever.

The best she could do was dim herself slightly and hover nearby, trying to not shine too brightly in his eyes.

Every once in a while he would jerk awake and with glazed over eyes look around at the forest, then he would turn to her where they were.

"Kai, where are we," he asked, after flinching away from the tree, gasping for air.

He rotated through names sometimes, but she didn't let that get to her as she chirped, "Somewhere in Europe, but it's ok Grif! You're going to be ok."

It was a very long and restless sleep. But she could wait for him to get better, it was really no problem to do so. They had all the time in the world.

Huggins couldn't do much more than look at Grif and just try to _guess_ what was wrong with him.

His face was sheen with sweat and his skin seemed like it was losing more and more color the longer he sat against the tree. Bags were under his eyes, deep and dark, but she couldn't tell if that was from whatever illness he had or if they were just a permanent part of his face.

There was a long gash cutting across his cheek to his right eye, it was swollen and puffy. Caked blood surrounded it, but the blood was dark. Very dark. Almost pure black, and she would have guessed that it was that way because it was all dried out.

But blood was continuing to drip down the wound, and it was just as dark as the smeared blood dragging across his face.

"Grif," she whispered, seeing him blink open his eyes. "What color is human blood?"

It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on her, and she was as dim as she could go but he still had to squint his eyes at her.

"Human blood?" he asked. "We bleed red, not blue."

"Oh," she murmured. "Ok, thanks, Grif."

"You should know this by now, Caboose," Grif slurred as he leaned forward.

Panicking, Huggins felt herself brighten and she dashed in front of his face. "Grif! What are you doing? You're too sick to get up!"

"Please," he swiped at her, but she dodged out of the way. "I'm fine, I can get up, go away, Donut."

Groaning in frustration she knew there was nothing she could _really_ do to stop him. Well, there was one thing but-

That would have to be a last resort before anything else.

He swayed on two feet, she had no idea how he was able to keep _any_ sort of balance.

She was proven right when he took one step and collapsed against the tree, face pressed hard against it, and judging by his grimace the bark must have dug painfully into the gash on his cheek.

"Fuck," he muttered, before lifting his head slowly away from the trunk. More of that weird inky blood dribbled down from his cheek, and some of it pooled onto the part of the tree where his head had rested against.

Dragging his fingers across his face she watched as his eyes focused on the blood.

"That's not good," he plainly said as he looked at it for a few more seconds.

Huggins didn't trust his nonchalance acknowledgment of it and before she could ask him if he _really_ was ok, he turned to the side and threw up, bile spewing from his mouth onto the forest floor.

Spitting, he got in a "That's so _fucking gross,"_ before he emptied out more of what was left in his stomach.

Her panic had only grown more and more as she watched his hands rest upon shaking knees, and as he stumbled away from the tree she saw him ignore his helmet a few ways away in favor of asking, "Hugs, is there- I feel like I'm gonna pass out- is there a stream or a river or just _fuck_ some source of water?"

"I don't know," she answered before zipping across the forest very, very quickly. It didn't take her long to find a nearby stream, and before Grif could so much as blink, she was hovering close to him again. "There's one not so far from here! Follow me, Grif!"

Hovering in front of him and only dashing forward every few feet so that Grif could keep up she led him to the river, the mossy stones surrounding it, and a few fish swam with the water current. The rippling of the water bouncing against protruding stones echoed across the empty forest.

Huggins never really thought much about her surroundings or the life forms on Earth much before, as Lord Atlus' spy she never had a reason to.

But in the past few days, she's gotten to know Grif, she's paid a lot more attention to the sounds of life that seemed to constantly fill up the silence of the planet.

She actually listened to birds singing in the morning, and the sounds of various bug life buzzing at night.

And she listened to the steady rhythm of Grif exhaling and inhaling when he was resting because she was amazed that he had to do that to live.

She began to appreciate it a little more, but then he had gotten sick by _something_ and his lungs began to rattle with every breath he took.

It worried her at first, but it soon became soothing- an acknowledgment that he was still alive. That death hadn't claimed him just yet in the same way that it claimed her parents.

She really didn't want Grif to die. And not just because it would inconvenient to preserving the timeline, what with her being unable to remove the evidence of his armor from this time period.

Huggins would feel genuinely saddened by his death.

She hadn't heard the world so quiet since being stuck in this time period, watching Grif's knees fail him as he collapsed on the edge of the river.

Gliding towards him she lowered herself to eye level, and she saw him focus on the water before reaching out with one hand to try and scoop up some. Water spilled and spilled from his hand as he raised it to his cheek.

Huggins watched as Grif closed his eyes and sighed, hand cupping his face.

Then she watched as he collapsed face first into the river, hands lying limp against the muddied ground.

"Grif!" she yelled out in concern. She jolted forward and circled around his head, debating one what she could _do,_ if she could do _nothing_ at all. She sunk lower to the water, watching in growing fear as little bubbles of air rise to the surface of the water.

The water rushed over his head, and it didn't look like he was going to get up anytime soon _and she didn't know what she could do to help-_

But she did. Echoes of her parent's stories came to her.

There was something she could _try_ doing.

It was sacred and it was meant as something _personal_ shared between two of her people.

_"No one made me. I made me."_

She didn't even know if it would work on someone who was made of _flesh_ and not light, she didn't know what would happen at all.

Huggins didn't even know why Grif had a wound that made him bleed a different color than normal.

_"What did we say about southern accents?"_

_"That they’re dang wicked awesome there, partner!"_

But she just _knew_ that it had to do with that _shisno_ that took his extended olive branch and _smacked him in the face with it._ It had something to do with the corruption of lowly mortals into shisno's, that was the only explanation she could even think about that would explain how he had gotten so weak so fast, combined with the _blood-_

_"It just keeps happening! I get a few moments’ rest, and then we go on another thing. And another thing. It never ends!"_

_"And how does that make you feel?"_

_"Like a pinball! Trapped in a—a never-ending cycle of shenanigans and adventures. It’s like- it’s like my hell."_

Her mother had told her that there was something only they could initiate, something they could do to open themselves up to another person and become _something greater._

Her people were made of light, they were incorruptible, Chrovos couldn't reach them, it was what made them so appealing to the Cosmic Powers as spies.

Huggins could share that part of herself with Grif. Then maybe he'd get better.

It's when she notices that the bubbles had stopped rising to the top that she makes her decision.

With a small, "Sorry Grif," she stretches her light as far as she could, enveloping his form as best as she could, and she prodded at his consciousness, tried to get him to wake up just slightly to _let her in._

It's only a faint and vague acknowledgment, but it's there and that means Grif's alive so she lets her sliver of light attach to that link and _sink into it._

And Huggins feels the full brunt of a whole new kind of sensations-

_The burning of sand beneath his- her- their- feet, the feeling of water surging forward to caress their ankles-_

_The taste of creamy chocolate melting against their tongue-_

_The smell of cooked and seasoned fish rising from the grill-_

_Tears streaking down their eyes and the pain of having their heart clench and their lungs restrict-_

And then they feel themselves waking up.

Followed closely by the uncomfortable sensation of _blinking_ their eyes, the water from the river stinging them, but they keep their eyes wide open to just _see._ But that painful burning in their chest kept getting stronger and stronger until they were forced to _breathe-_

Only for water to rush into their lungs, causing them to gasp and sputter, head jerking out of the water as clumsy arms slipped against the smooth stones at the bottom of the river, unused to being able to grip things.

Staying there, they spit up all the water that had settled into their lungs, heaving as best as they could, eyes clenched shut. They've only been alive for a few minutes, _at best,_ but most of that time was spent being underwater or coughing.

No, not off to a great start. But that's ok! They had all the time in the world, to just, _enjoy life._ They lean upwards, the worst of the coughing finally staved off.

So they just sit, soaking wet hair cascading down their back, eyes closed and letting the warm rays of the sunlight hit against their face.

Something about that feeling reminds them of something important, but they're too entrapped with the sensation of their cheeks warming up to really pay any mind.

But the strong pulling from one of their half shocks them into action.

"To the heavens," hands reaching up to cradle their face, they wince when they smack softly against the gash across their cheek. "Are you alright?"

One of their halves directs it at the other, but that one is quiet, drifting off in a sort of deathly slumber. That half is asleep, and the other is concerned.

And they are left without any sort of name, not for them and not for the halves.

"Do we have a name?" they question allowed, resting back against the ground, feeling the grass against their palm.

The more active half supplies _Huggins,_ and she has to urge the other half into awareness, has to urge him to say his name, _Dexter._

But they only hear it said at the same time, giving them the name, "Hugster?"

 _Huggins_ sighs but they can feel her nod so they take it in stride.

And then they try to stand up, only to fall back down against their knees. Instinctively they know half of it is from how weak _Dexter's_ body is, but the other half is from _Huggins._

She's never had a body before. But now they do.

It's confusing and disorientating, especially for them because now they're _alive._

And they don't know what they have to do. Their purpose.

 _Huggins_ pushes forward her loyalty to the Cosmic Powers, her desire to keep _Dexter_ alive, and the urgency that they go to England to retrieve the time gun.

 _Dexter_ is quiet and tired force, pulsing only slightly with little to no influence, but he manages to send to them a picture of his sister, wearing yellow armor, and they just know that she's important, followed by a man in maroon armor, with no name to him but an outpour of love from his half.

And they combine the two to get their answer, their purpose.

"To England," they announce.

They manage to pull themselves up without tipping over completely, and putting one foot in front of the other they walk away from the river and out of the forest.

They don't go back for their helmet. _Dexter_ barely notices that it's missing.

* * *

He's lavishly laying about on his throne, enjoying the fact that he's _finally_ getting the respect he deserves when that _annoying_ knight barged into his throne room _again._

God, when the fuck would this guy just give him time to himself?

"Sire!" the knight called out. "I have the most dire of news!"

"If this is about the French again, I don't want to hear it," Tucker glared at him. He half considered pulling out his sword and threatening the guy to leave him alone.

The dude was always going on and _on_ about how he should _properly_ deal with the French, as if he, _King_ of England, would _ever_ take advice from a lowly knight.

No backseat ruling under Tucker's reign that's for sure.

"No Sire, tis not about the French," the knight sounded frustrated, one fist clenched tightly at his side. "The guards hath come with the most frightening of news!"

"Any news coming from you is frightening," Tucker glared.

"My Lord, they spoke of witchcraft!" The blue knights at the side wall gripped the handle of their swords, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Witchcraft?" Tucker rolled his eyes, rolling his wrist dismissively. "Witchcraft, and _magic,_ isn't real. Was that all?"

"No, Your Grace!" The knight pointed his gauntlet at him, his armor clinking softly with the harsh movement. "You shall listen at once. Your loyal guard hath seen a witch walk upon thy royal Channel! The witch moved with a purpose radiating malice!"

"Where is this witch now," Tucker jumped up off the throne, his mind immediately jumping to the woman in green armor who had attacked them during the present time. "Bring forth this witch so that I may _slay_ her!"

With the flick of his wrist, he activated his sword, ignoring as his guards fell down into the kneel at the sight of it.

The knight seemed to radiate smugness as he pointed towards the throne rooms doors, saying, "That vile beast seemed to head toward Camelot, and I expect it to arrive here verily."

"You!" Tucker pointed at one of the random knights to the side. "Go get Kai and tell her that I summon her _urgently_ to the throne room now."

"Right away, Sire," the knight dashed out of the room, armor clanking in the distance.

"Now as for the rest of you," Tucker addressed the rest of the remaining knights, including that smug bastard. "I command you to remove yourselves from the room, allow the witch throughout the castle- don't _engage,_ and let me handle this."

Just in case any of them wanted to argue, he flaunted his sword in front of them. Reluctantly, they seemed convinced and hurried out of the room with as much haste as the other knight.

Now it was just a waiting game, and Tucker could wait for as long as it took for that goddess alien thing to appear. Sword griped in his hands, he heard the faint tell-tale clacks of armor clicking against the ground outside the throne room.

The urgency of it was all to wrong for it to be Kai, so he just _knew_ that it was the goddess lady.

He tightened his grip against the handle of his sword and prepared himself for anything.

The doors to the throne room swung open, but the figure who appeared before him was _not_ the one that he was expecting.

Messy and wild hair hung in front of their face, but Tucker would recognize that armor _anywhere._

"Grif," he yelled as he lowered his sword. "What the fuck are you doing here? Get over here you asshole so I can protect you from that goddess lady, she's back!"

Grif didn't respond, but he slid his hands away from the doors and slowly lifted his head to look straight at Tucker.

Tucker jumped back at the sight of his face, the long open wound cutting open the side of his head, a black substance still _dripping_ from it. The skin graft that he had received from Simmons so long ago was distorted slightly, looking more like a starburst surround the eye instead of the patch of off colored skin that it _was supposed to be._

The eye the burst of off-color skin now surrounded was a milky and dull white.

Something told Tucker that this wasn't _really_ Grif. At least, not anymore.

The figure before him glanced around at the throne room, not really focusing long enough on any of the decors to really be appreciating it. They looked past Tucker at first, looking at the throne behind him, before redirecting their gaze back at Tucker.

Their smile stretched painfully across their face, pulling roughly at the cut on their cheek.

"Hi, Tucker!" the impostor chirped. "It's nice to meet you. Well, officially. I have vague memories of you, but they're more of imprints really!"

Lifting his sword up again, he steadied himself into a position where he could defend himself as needs be. "Who the hell are you? What the fuck did you do to Grif?"

"I'm Hugster," they answered back. "I don't know who Grif is. Are you talking about _Dexter?"_

Rolling his eyes he grumbled out, "Does it make a difference? _Yeah, him._ What did you do to him?"

This _'Hugster'-_ and talk about a tragic name, it sounded like Caboose named them- tilted their head to the side, letting the hair sway and fall with the movement. They didn't say anything for a few seconds, pursing their lips before they answered, "He's really quiet right now. But he's always quiet."

Blinking at that information- and the possibility that Grif got fucking _body snatched_ by some weird alien god bullshit and this was just his duplicate intrusively entered his mind- Tucker could only rely on instinct to ask, "Why is he quiet? What does that even _mean?"_

"He's hurt," they pointed at the wound on the side of their head. _"Huggins_ says that it's not going to heal without help from Lady Kalirama, one of the Cosmic Powers. It hasn't stopped bleeding for days!"

The memory of the four-armed woman spiked to the forefront of his mind at hearing the name _Kalirama_ and he immediately became distrustful. "Why should I trust what you're saying? How do I know you're not making this up?"

They pursed their lips before brightening and saying, with as much positivity and confidence as they could muster, "Oh! _Dexter's_ a little more awake now! He's telling me to call you a cockbite of the highest order!"

Goddamn it. He doubted some evil god would allow their infiltration plant to be _that_ goddamn stupid.

This only meant he had more questions. Fucking hell.

Deactivating his sword he gestured at- fuck he really has to acknowledge their name doesn't he- _Hugster_ to move closer into the throne room.

"You got to explain everything because I have no goddamn clue about anything that's going on, man," he sighed.

They walked out of the throne rooms doorway, stepping further into the room itself, but keeping a general distance away from Tucker.

"It's Doc's fault," they stated with nonchalance. "He hit _Dexter,_ with the time gun, and it allowed a physical form of shisno corruption to fester. He's really weak because of it," they trailed off, eyes looking to the side.

"Doc?" he asked, before rolling his eyes, because _of course_ , Doc would turn against them again, what did he fucking expect? The so-called pacifist to live up to his holier than thou lifestyle. As if.

"Yeah!" they nodded their head, hair swaying slightly. _"Dexter_ and him were trying to reinvent pizza, it didn't go so well- _Huggins_ can attest to that."

If Tucker could roll his eyes further back into his skull he would. Everything about this situation was just typical.

"And how did this," he gestured to them, distantly noticing how they had a much taller height advantage over him than usual with dismay, "happen exactly?"

 _"Huggins_ had to stop him from drowning! So she combined her form with his," they explained but paused when they saw the _what the fuck_ look he clearly had on his face.

"It's a special bond," Hugster clarified. "That means _Huggins_ trusts _Dexter_ enough to share her entire being with him!"

"So you two can just, break apart right?" Tucker asked, uncomfortable. "Like, this isn't a permanent thing right?"

Hugster looked away again and pursed their lips. "It... depends..."

Crossing his arms he glared at the hesitant being in front of him and grilled, "Depends on _what?"_

Nervously grabbing their hair, they wrung some in their hands, revealing to Tucker previously hidden gentle, orange flames in the shape of small fairy wings emitting from the cauldrons of the armor.

He quietly amended in his mind that maybe it was _Donut_ who had a hand in the design creation of the being in front of him as he waited for them to gather their thoughts.

 _"Huggins_ says," they pause again. "She says that if we release the meld right now, _Dexter_ dies. If we stay together for too long, they both get lost and die. But _I_ die either way."

"Are you willing to let that happen," Tucker accused. There was something about the way the figure phrased it that had him on edge.

"It is what it is," they shrugged, although Tucker knew they wanted to say more. "What's important is that _Dexter_ stays alive."

"And who has that opinion," he asked.

"All of us," Hugster looked straight at Tucker as they said that.

Just as Tucker was about to say something, the asshole orange knight burst into the room yelling, "Sire! Lady Kaikaina hath been taken by some trickster in pink! The guards heard a commotion, rushed in, to see her taken by the sorcerer."

He felt his heart drop at that, and a quick look at Hugster gave him all the confirmation that he needed to know that Grif was in there _somewhere._

The black substance dripped down their chin, and their brown and milky white eyes were lit ablaze with pure anger, a snarl etched onto their face pulling at the open gash.

The barely noticeable flames from before grew in such ferocity, turning from a soft orange to a darkened red.

They stormed straight up to the knight, who seemed to recognize them as the witchcraft user from before, and grabbed him by the chest plate, yanking him up to their massive height.

Towering over the knight they growled out, "Tell us again what that _shisno_ did with our little sister. And then explain _why you failed to protect her."_

**Author's Note:**

> So the ethical dilemma tag is vaguely referenced to at the end, and I will say that if I continue with this universe that tag would have been _very_ essential to the fic. Where I was going with that is loosely based on the Star Trek: Voyager episode, 'Tuvix', if anyone gets my reference. Thank you so much for reading this even if it was weirder than normal!
> 
> My Tumblrs are: @agent-murica (main and where I'm accepting prompts) and @amateurscribes (writing).


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